A Case of Emotions Unchronicled Case No 1
by The-Darkness-In-The-Bright
Summary: Sherlock Holmes has always sneered at the fairer sex...until he meets his match in his new client, Maia Sharma. Narrated from Watson's POV
1. Chapter 1

A/N: Hey all! OK, FYI, I own nothing except the plot, Anand and Maia. Holmes and Watson, much to my misery, are the true property of Sir Arthur Conan Doyle, a fantastic author, whose works I have admired ever since I have read them. austenfan1990 – I salute you, mate! Your works could rival his, and that says something! So could AerynFire's! OK, enough with this stuff. On with the show!

To Sherlock Holmes she is always his Maia. I have seldom heard him mention her under any other title. In his eyes she eclipses and predominates the whole of her sex. He never felt any emotion akin to love for women, until he met her. All emotions, and that one particularly, were abhorrent to his cold, precise, but admirably balanced mind. He was, I feel, the most perfect reasoning and observing machine that the world has seen; but, as a lover, he would have been in utter confusion. He never spoke of the softer passions, save with a cruel remark and a sneer. They were admirable things for the observer -- excellent for drawing the veil from men's motives and actions. But for the trained reasoner to admit such intrusions into his own delicate and finely adjusted temperament was to introduce a distracting factor which might throw a doubt upon all his mental results. Grit in a sensitive instrument, or a crack in one of his high-power lenses, would not be more disturbing than a strong emotion in a nature such as his. And yet there was but one woman for him, and that woman was the beautiful Maia Sharma, of excellent memory, sound logic, wonderful observation, incredible intelligence and hypnotic dark chocolate eyes…

A/N: OK, I desperately need reviews before I put up the next chapter…no worries, folks, the story is already finished…I just need reviews lol.


	2. Chapter 2

A/N: OK, like in ACD's books, this is written in Watson's POV. Only a couple of times will the POV shift…but for now, it's Watson's. Enjoy!

"Watson? Watson, my friend," Holmes shook me awake gently. With a grunt, I rolled over and shook the warmth of sleep off me.

"What is it, Holmes? Is the bank being robbed?" I asked blearily, looking at the clock. It was a quarter past seven in the morning.

"No, good sir, a client is here to see us. And she is clearly from India," Holmes smiled at me before exiting the room. I hurried to brush my teeth, get dressed and comb my hair. I exited the room, carrying a pen and my notebook. A young woman sat in her chair, clad in a pale pink cotton _sari_ and her veil over her face. I saw that her hands were not dark like the traditional natives of India, but golden. They were also covered with orange _henna_, a dye used to decorate the hands of women, associated traditionally with weddings.

"Ah, here he is now. This is Dr. Watson, my colleague and dear friend. And you, miss, are...?"

"Maia Sharma, sir," surprisingly, her English was perfect, accented ever so slightly with Indian. She removed her veil to reveal a beautiful, oval shaped face. Her eyes were large and almond-shaped and were a hypnotic chocolate brown. They gave her a most dramatic look indeed. She had black hair that was pulled into a bun at the nape of her neck and she wore a simple gold chain with a _swastika_, a symbol of good luck in India, and small gold hoops.

"And how, Ms. Sharma, may I and my colleague assist you? Obviously you are in good health, so that cannot be troubling you, but your eyes hold sorrow and fear, therefore I sense it must be something to do with your family," the girl nodded.

"Indeed, Mr. Holmes. My father..." she wiped frantically at her eyes. "I apologize. He was...murdered last night, sir. Stabbed in the body a hundred and eight times," Ms. Sharma explained, shuddering with suppressed sobs.

"I am deeply sorry for your loss, miss," I sympathised and received a grateful glance and quivery smile in return.

"Was a murder weapon found?"

"Yes sir, but before we found it, we knew that it was definitely a butcher knife, a very sharp, new one," Holmes raised a brow questioningly.

"Well, there was no rust lining the wound, therefore, the knife was new. The length of the blade was very long, and the width was quite wide near the handle and thin near the tip of the blade. These were all concluded by post-mortem reports; therefore, the knife was a butcher knife. Because the cuts were smooth and there were no jagged ones at all, the knife had to be extremely sharp," Ms. Sharma explained. Holmes' observant grey eyes widened and I fought to stifle a grin. Evidentially, Holmes had found a man to match perceptiveness with.

"Who concluded this, Ms. Sharma?" Holmes asked. She looked down at her lap.

"Because I wished to have no police investigation, I did," Holmes' eyes, looked more stunned than possible. I coughed to conceal a laugh that threatened to expose itself. Holmes' match was a woman. Things just kept getting better and better.

"Do you suspect anyone, Ms. Sharma?" Holmes asked stiffly.

"Anand Patil," she said, spitting the name out in distaste.

"A friend?" I asked curiously.

"Oh, hardly! We grew up in the same area of Bombay and I have always kept a distance from him. But he was always infatuated with me and asked to marry me ever since we were seventeen. Then my father's business took him, a widower, and myself to London. It has been about nine years since then, and Anand has been living next door to us for about four months. My father knew of my distaste for him and Anand's proposals were always turned down,"

"He must be a man of great determination," I commented.

"Oh, yes. But it is not love he feels for me, not in the emotional sense. It is purely physical. Of course, our family connections and our wealth elevates me in his eyes," she looked as if she tasted something particularly bitter.

"Is he bold enough to do something such as murder?"

"I could not tell you, sir. But I do know that he is bold enough to assault me in my own home with a housekeeper present for he did so a month ago," fury flared in those beautiful eyes of hers and I knew then and there that this was not a woman to be trifled with.

"Kindly detail the events leading up to this unchivalrous action, Ms. Sharma," Holmes requested, steepling his long, white fingers together at the tips and paying every attention to our new client.

"I am a dabbler in the arts and writing, Mr. Holmes, so you will not be surprised when I tell you that a month ago; I was in the sitting room, using watercolours to complete a landscape in a sunrise piece to hang in my father's study. The housekeeper entered and said that Anand had decided to pay me a visit. I need hardly reveal how exasperated I was when she told me thus. Nonetheless, I felt it rude to turn him away, and permitted her to let him in. I now know that I should have dispensed with politeness and have him leave. He entered my house as if he owned the place and greeted me, oozing with poorly attempted charm.

'Good afternoon, Maia. You _are_ looking lovely this fine day,' he said, lifting my hand to kiss it.

"Good afternoon, Anand. Please, do tell me the reason for your visit," said I, taking my hand away before they reached his lips.

'Now, my dear' I cringed at this unwanted term of endearment. 'One would think you wanted to be rid of me!' he laughed uproariously at this so-called joke of his, and I could not help thinking that that was exactly what I wanted, and it was only by my self-control that I held my tongue.

'I was wondering if you had reconsidered my offer of marriage. It would be well within your best interests, you know. Not many men are willing to marry you here, no disrespect meant. We also have known each other since childhood and-'

'Anand-' I interrupted him, knowing exactly how it would unfold. He would provide the same reasons for why we should be married, and I would stand, politely decline and he would leave, vowing to make me accept. I decided that I would, once and for all, put an end to this nonsense. "You have been proposing marriage to me since we were seventeen. I did not wish to become Mrs. Anand Patil then, and my views on the matter remain unchanged. I feel that you should pursue another young lady who is more interested in your wooing," I said firmly, letting him know that the matter was closed. I rose from my seat and moved to leave, but he strode over to me.

'But I do not wish to wed another. It is you I desire,'

'Well, I apologize, but I am not interested in your offer,' said I, stiffly. My housekeeper had entered the room a second after I had uttered this and stood by the open door to bow him out, but he made no such move to do so.

'I will not leave here empty-handed!' he roared and pinned me to the table in an attempt to kiss me.

'Anand, leave me!' I cried, in English and again in Hindi, our native tongue. My housekeeper got aid from our gardener who was working outside, and with his help, Anand was escorted roughly out of my house. And that was the last time I have met him properly," she finished, looking at myself and my friend expectantly. I was astounded at the gall of this blackguard.

"Ms. Sharma, without going off the topic, where was your father's body found?"

"In the very same sitting room Anand assaulted me in, but I have reason to believe that my father was killed in his room and carried downstairs,"

"And I assume that these conclusions were reached, as before, by you?" Holmes asked, his tone a little sarcastic.

"Correct, sir. There was a pool of blood on his sheets, and a small trickle of blood leading down the stairs and to the floor in the sitting room. Therefore, the murderer stabbed by father repeatedly in his bed, and then carried him downstairs. If he had been dragged down, there would be smears of blood on the carpet and floors," she nodded, her voice sounding crisp and cold, as if attempting to make herself believe that this situation was not her own to experience. I admired the self control in which she contained her obvious grief.

"How did he enter the house?" I asked. With her observant, keen eyes and ears, she had to have heard the murderer enter.

"By he, I assume you mean the man who murdered my father. He entered through the downstairs window. My housekeeper, who is probably the most trustworthy woman you will find, bolted the windows last night, but apparently it did not lock properly and the murderer observed this. He closed it after him after the deed, but I found a corner of the curtains caught in the window and the flowerbed beneath the window was trampled most horribly," I coughed violently to cover my laughter at Holmes' expression. Apart from Mycroft, his brother, Holmes' had never met a person as observant as she.

"Well, Ms Sharma, if you are perceptive enough to conclude all of this, I fail to see why you require my assistance in this matter," Holmes stated, his eyes always on this exotic beauty and full of grudging admiration.

"Because I cannot prove who it was! I know Anand most certainly has the motive and he knows his way around my house. The knife used to kill my father was from our own kitchen, and when checking for blood on the knife, no fingerprints were found anywhere. He must have worn gloves and huge boots – his feet are incredibly small for a man and the footprints I found were very large, but their impressions were deeper within the footprints – but I have no proof!" she cried in frustration.

"Have you tried investigating him?" Holmes asked. She nodded with a tired sigh.

"Of course. I have disguised myself and taken employment as a barmaid at the Silver Lion, where he goes every evening, and followed him home afterwards. Nothing," she brushed a stray silken strand from her face.

"Your disguise, Ms. Sharma. Is it impossible for Mr. Patil to recognize you?" my friend asked. For the first time today, her full lips curved into a grin of mischief and her dramatic eyes twinkled in merriment.

"Oh, yes, Mr. Holmes. Very much so," she chose not to elaborate. Although, I noticed that her smile did not fully reach her eyes. There was still a shadow of misery lingering.

A/N: OK? Hoped y'all liked this chapter…I made it long just for you! Reviews please!


	3. Chapter 3

A/N: Again, in Watson's POV! Only the plot, Anand and Maia belong to me. Enjoy!

Later, Holmes emerged from his room, dressed in seamen's clothing, his dark brown hair handing in strands like a fringe around his face under his cap, and his grey eyes twinkling in merriment. His face was unshaved and I saw a tattoo on his right arm, which he revealed was simply a drawing using a thick black pen.

"I'll be back later, Watson," was all he said before lighting a cigarette and swaggering out the door. I noticed his voice was much deeper and had a slight Irish accent to it. I shook my head, wondering what my friend was up to now. He had left an hour after our client had, and had only returned half an hour ago. When he did, he simply slipped into his room without another word.

I made myself useful by finding out all I could about our new client and reading _The Times_. Holmes returned late. I looked up from my book to see him collapse in his chair, looking unnerved, with a touch of amusement.

"My dear fellow! What on earth has happened?" I asked in astonishment. Holmes had never looked so stunned in all his life. He lit his pipe and began his tale.

"I have just been visiting the Silver Lion, to enquire about our suspect. The landlord was a most disagreeable fellow and it was only by the help of a blonde barmaid that he was calmed. I noticed that she seemed familiar to me from her movements and the colour of her eyes, which were brown, unusual for a blonde woman. It was not until the barmaid and I were in a quieter corner than she revealed herself to me as our client! Watson, she is a true expert with cosmetics. She had donned a wig of blonde curls, a pasty, freckled complexion, heavy black lined eyes, dark lips, rouged cheeks, English attire, high-heeled shoes and a padded figure. She stuffed cotton balls in her cheeks to make them slightly chubbier and had used a Cockney accent. It was pure talent, Watson," I was astounded, not only at the talent of our new client, but at what Holmes was telling me.

"Holmes, you do, of course, realize that it is a woman you are complimenting?" I pointed out, raising a brow. Holmes either did not hear me or ignored me.

"It seems that I have met my match in acting, observation and disguise. But these three fields are simply three of many I have," Holmes smiled in satisfaction. I hid a grin for I had news for my friend.

"Well, perhaps not, Holmes. I carried out my own research regarding our client, and found that in her English school for girls in India, she won multiple prizes in English, Art, Drama, and all the sciences. She was also the highest of her rank in the study of botany, and the lead soprano of her school choir, her recital of 'Phantom of the Opera' with a fellow tenor from a brother school is legendary, as well as an adept wooden-flute player," I recited, looking at my friend's shocked face with amusement. His deep-set grey eyes widened so much they appeared as if they would soon pop out of his head and his jaw was slack. I was witnessing a Holmes so stunned he was speechless. I silently vowed to remember _this_ moment for the rest of my life before continuing.

"Oh yes, she was also captain of her school's archery team and the star fencer of her school. I sent a telegram ahead to enquire more of the housekeeper, who revealed that the young lady has been taught by her father to wield a pistol with amazing accuracy," I finished nonchalantly, biting my lip to conceal a smile at Holmes' almost beaten face. His pipe lay forgotten in his fingers.

"Oh, cheer up, Holmes. You are, after all, the one with fame and experience on your side," I reassured him, although, admittedly, not wholeheartedly, for I was chuckling softly. Holmes, still observant, scowled at me.

"I do not detect any humour in this situation, Watson, so I should like to be made aware as to the reason you are hiding your laughter," he stated dryly. I composed myself before explaining.

"Holmes, in my years working with you, every time we are on a case, it takes you merely a few days, sometimes even hours before you finish it, and this involves solving the mystery of the weapon, the motive, the murderer, the location of murder, and everything else. Now, all our work has been done for us, save for who committed the crime and why. What tops all of this is the fact that it has been completed, and by a woman, no less, seems to push you into misery! I know of your prejudice against women for they use their hearts more than their heads, but is it wrong to have one woman who escapes the stereotype?" I asked. Holmes scrubbed his face with his long, nervous hands and held his face in them for a moment before looking at me with almost defeated, resigned eyes.

"No, Watson, but it is unnerving when a woman does so and happens to be extremely charming and beautiful at the same time," he said quietly before rising and retiring to his room, a very pale blush blooming on his cheeks. I stood there for a moment in stunned silence before breaking the quiet with a soft chuckle and a grin. The plot thickens, as they say. Holmes attracted to our client? Well, well, well...what a sense of déjà vu...

A/N: I know, not as long as before, but I thought you might like the cliff-hanger. A note of warning, the next chapter will be as short as the first…so no attempted murders, OK? Reviews are needed!


	4. Chapter 4

A/N: OK, _now_, we have a change in POV…to Holmes! And, unfortunately, I only own Maia and Anand. Hope you like!

_It is strange for me to have to take up my pen to write these words, for it is normally Watson's tidy handwriting that chronicles the cases, but I must pen these words or I shall go mad with confusion and bewilderment. This afternoon, Watson and I made the journey to our client's place of residence, in the hopes that we would gather something new. After the housekeeper ushered us in, Watson was led to the sitting room to examine the body, and I made my way up to the victim's room for my own examinations. To my surprise, I found our client kneeling in the centre of the room, delicate hands fisting the bloody sheets and tears trailing down her face. Dressed in a traditional Indian attire of white with a translucent veil of the same colour half-covering her face, she very much fit the part of an exotic angel. Even my language has become poetic and romantic. Why is this happening to me, of all people? I felt awkward at intruding upon such a private moment. I had witnessed total control of her emotions before, but women are women and are bound to have their barriers break at some point. I made to exit the room, but she stopped me in a voice that, for the first time in my life, wrenched at my heart._

"_Please stay," she said in a choked whisper. I had no choice but to obey as I shut the door and knelt next to her. She held my hand in a vice-like grip and allowed her tears to flow freely down her cheeks and dampen the sheets in her other hand. I did not need to look at them to know that her conclusions of where her father was killed were correct. Without thinking, I reached over and wiped away her tears with my long, white fingers, which contrasted against the dusky gold of her complexion. She gazed up into my eyes and I felt myself paralysed by those eyes that gave off an aura of mystique. I felt as if I was drowning in those deep chocolate pools. She leant against my shoulder and gave a shuddering breath. Unconsciously, I wrapped my arms around her and she laid a hand over my heart, which was hammering at least three times faster than normal. _

"_Now you're frightened," she whispered huskily, as if in a trance. She was right. I _was_ frightened, for I was feeling something utterly new to me. The fact that I was feeling any strong emotion at all was a cause for concern. I gently prised her off me and left the room. As I shut the door behind me, I leant against it, a bead of cold sweat trickling down the back of my neck and goose bumps rising. What was happening to me? _


	5. Chapter 5

A/N: Back to Watson…and, yes, you're quite right, I have simply taken ACD's amazing world, added Maia and Anand and made it my playground. Enjoy!

I gazed at Holmes in astonishment. He was dressed in a suit of agate grey that accentuated his eyes, with a wig of strawberry blonde curls peeking from under his hat and a moustache to match. We were getting ready to leave for a dance performance that, we were informed, Mr. Anand Patil would most certainly be attending.

"Holmes, I would never have recognized you," I said, for the lines in his face had miraculously vanished, leaving smooth skin and lowering Holmes' age of 45 to late-twenties. He grinned boyishly.

"Exactly what I wanted, my dear fellow. If anyone should ask, I am your apprentice, Leonard Benetton, of Oxford University. I am also Ms. Sharma's new fiancé," I reeled in shock but recovered quickly.

"Engaged again, Holmes? This really will not do wonders for your reputation," I said dryly, referring to the closest that Holmes had ever gotten to a woman: engaged (and that too, for the purpose of extracting information).

"Oh, nonsense, Watson, our client has herself suggested it. I shall be greeting her after the show she has recommended, in front of our friend Patil, preferably," he chuckled to himself. I shook my head in exasperation and donned my coat and hat. Holmes did the same, snatching up a black cane with a gold knob after pulling on his black leather gloves. I put on my own gloves and took my own sensible black cane before heading out the door after Holmes.

"Cab! Church Street!" Holmes cried in a deep voice, tinted with Welsh, as we boarded a cab for the show. We arrived in 15 minutes and entered. It was very ethnic based and reminded me of the time I spent in Afghanistan. Holmes was scanning the area and smirked when he caught sight of a gentleman in black near the front of the stage. He was short in comparison to Holmes and was quite plump and dark with greasy black hair, combed neatly. He looked most odious and I felt that it was quite right that our client should reject him so. We took our own seats, behind Mr. Patil, and waited for the show to begin. I caught sight of a couple of Indian gentlemen and one woman at the corner of the stage. One man held a _sitar_ in his two hands and was tuning it. The other man was making adjustments to his set of Indian drums, or _tablas_. The woman, not as pretty as our client, but elegant in her own way, held two sticks in her hands, and was speaking in a low voice to her companions. All three were dressed in white, the men wearing traditional _kurtas_ and the woman a _sari_. Suddenly, we heard the chiming of bells, and the three musicians sat upright, their faces solemn as they faced us. One lone woman walked on stage, deliberately and gracefully. She was dressed in a deep teal costume embroidered in gold, with heavy gold jewellery. Her softly smiling red lips stood out in her golden face, and her merry dark eyes were delicately outlined with black, making them the most obvious feature of her face. The bells we heard earlier came from large anklets around her thin ankles. Her hands were artfully painted with red and her long black hair was braided and held with jasmine blossoms. I looked closer and realised with a soft gasp of surprise, that this graceful dancer about to begin was none other than our client! I glanced at Holmes and fought for composure at the sight of his stunned face. I did not know if the facial expression was a reaction of his surprise or his being dumbstruck at her beauty, for she fit the part of an _apsara_, a celestial dancer. She struck a graceful pose on stage and the sitar began to play a slow, melodious tune. The _tablas_ struck a rhythm, and the dance began.

I was amazed. Our client had outdone herself during her performance and proved to be a very graceful, artistic dancer. Holmes had been staring at her every movement, every flick of the finger, roll of the eyes and every time her feet slapped against the floor, resounding her belled anklets. And the stare was not in shock anymore, but full, open admiration. I had a feeling that it was Sherlock Holmes who admired her and not just Leonard Benetton. At the end, we were not the only ones who clapped and praised. The entire hall rose with us and gave our client and entertainer a very deserved round of applause. She bowed, folding her hands before her, gently smiling her thanks before departing offstage with her musicians, who had been excellent. Holmes glanced at me with a nod and we both exited the hall, chattering about how wonderful the performance had been. About half an hour of waiting in the parlour, Anand Patil standing not far from us, our client entered the room in a _sari_ of red and gold, her hair now in an elegant bun and her heavy dance make-up lightened. Most of her gold jewellery was gone, save for her bangles, necklace and earrings. She smiled at her admirers in thanks and nodded her head politely. When she caught sight of Holmes, her eyes lightened and she made her way over to us. Holmes took her hand when she approached and kissed it tenderly. She smiled softly at him, her expression open and caring, as was his own. I smiled genially at her, noticing Anand Patil's scowling face behind her, which he composed into a smile that simply oozed false charm.

"Maia, my dear. Excellent performance!" he praised when she turned around and took her hand to imitate Holmes' gesture. She quickly removed her hand from his grasp.

"Thank you, Anand. Oh, do forgive my manners. This is Dr. Watson, an acquaintance of mine, and this is Mr. Benetton of Oxford University, Dr. Watson's apprentice, and my recent fiancé. Gentlemen, an old acquaintance, Mr. Anand Patil," she gestured at Holmes and myself before gesturing at Patil. I nodded with a mild smile at our suspect, who looked as if our client had just slapped him across the face.

"F-fiancé?" he stammered.

"Yes," she said, lengthening the word and fixing him with an expression that was both curious and questioning.

"How?" He choked. Holmes spoke now, a merry twinkle in his eyes as he took his 'fiancée's' hand.

"Well, sir, the common way to propose is to bend on one knee and ask for the lady's hand in marriage before placing a ring on her finger to indicate she is promised," Holmes drawled in his deep, Welsh-tinted accent, his comment reeking of sarcasm. It was then that I noticed a dainty ring of gold with a single ruby and a diamond on either side on the right hand of our client, clasped in Holmes' own. Where did that come from?

"I do understand how it is done, sir. What I do not comprehend is how Maia could be promised to you if she is already promised to another," I stifled an outburst at the impudence of this rogue. Holmes looked surprised and Maia was half-furious, half-surprised herself.

"I am afraid that I do not know what you are speaking of, Anand," she said stiffly, her eyes daring him to explain. Unfortunately, our suspect was not endowed with the perceptiveness of our client and my friend, and fell right into the trap.

"Why, Maia. I did not think your father would not have informed you. He and I spoke quite recently and have come to an agreement that involves my marriage to you," he explained smoothly. I could see Maia's eyes glitter with rage and I knew that we were in for a furious argument.

"I'm afraid the dead are not excellent at communicating past discussions with rejected suitors of their daughters, Anand," she said stiffly, indicating a double message. That he was and would always be a rejected suitor to her, and informing him that she knew of her father's death.

"Dead?" Patil asked, his eyes widening in a not-so convincing expression of shock.

"Yes, dead. Now, if you will excuse me, Mr. Patil, my fiancé, his employer and I have a dinner appointment at Simpson's. Good evening," she said crisply, before taking the arm of my friend and letting him lead the way out of the door. I followed them, attempting to fight a gale of laughter at her method of putting this positively odious gentleman in his place.


	6. Chapter 6

A/N: Still Watson…but after the next one, the POV will change, I promise. What's that? Why, yes, this _is_ ACD's world! How could you have noticed? Well, of course you wouldn't recognize Maia and Anand, they're mine! Enough twaddle! On with the show!

"The game is afoot, Watson, my friend!" Holmes burst out after receiving a telegram and scanning the contents. I looked up from _The Times_ in surprise.

"What on earth are you referring to, Holmes?" I asked.

"Tonight, Mr. Anand Patil shall be in our very clutches!" I looked at Holmes in shock. It had been about three weeks since we had met Mr. Patil and Holmes had taken to wearing his Leonard Benetton garb wherever we went. We also happened to meet our client at many social events, something which I had a feeling, had been prearranged by Holmes and his 'fiancée'.

"How? When?" I asked. Holmes grinned boyishly.

"Tonight is dear Maia's performance, Watson. You remember she was legendary for her duet of _The Phantom of the Opera_?" It hit me then.

"I take it then, our man shall be there?" I asked. Holmes grinned widely.

"Of course he shall," Then, another question.

"Holmes, what shall we be doing?" I asked. Holmes looked a little sheepish.

"Well, Watson, we have managed to seat you behind Patil. I would be much obliged if you brought your revolver with you,"

"Certainly, Holmes. But where will you be?" I asked. Here, for the first time that I have known my friend, he blushed in embarrassment. Granted, it was very slight, but it was an embarrassed blush nonetheless.

"Onstage, Watson. As Maia's co-singer," Here, I reeled, half wanting to laugh.

"You can sing opera, Holmes?" I asked dryly. Holmes looked very self-conscious now.

"I was in my school choir from the age of six to eighteen," he muttered. I forced down the gale of laughter threatening to erupt.

"I see," was all I said. Then, something else Holmes had said hit me. "Holmes...did you just call our client _dear Maia_?" I asked. Holmes, to my surprise and glee, went even pinker.

"Holmes, are you developing feelings for your faux fiancée?" I asked. Holmes sank into his chair with his head in his hands.

"She is making a fool of me," he muttered. I laughed and seated myself opposite him.

"No, my friend, that is not so. It is you making a fool of yourself, due to your feelings for Maia Sharma. Just out of curiosity, Holmes," here, I had a question that needed to be answered. "Are you in love with her?" Holmes looked up at me, his eyes weary. He nodded.

"And it is the one thing that terrifies me in the world, Watson,"

"Because your love may bias your judgement and in your eyes, to fall in love is to displace the cold logic and calculation that you place above all others?" I asked Holmes. He looked surprised, but nodded.

"Holmes, after living with you for so long, one should not be surprised if I know you only too well. But that aside, just because you are in love with someone, does not mean that it will be your downfall. Not everything is a Shakespearean romantic tragedy. On the contrary, it should only be to your benefit,"

"But is it fair to subject a woman to a place such as this?" Holmes gestured to the messy room. Papers were strewn here and there, files were out of place and God knows what else. I laughed.

"I believe that if Maia loves you, she would not really mind. She would, no doubt tidy the place up a little bit, but I have no doubt that it would be in such a way that would make both of you happy. I have no doubt that she cares for you, Holmes," I explained. Holmes sat in silence for a while, staring into the fire. Then, he sprang up.

"Quick Watson! Dress smartly and do remember your revolver. We have a murderer to catch," Holmes hurried into his room. I did the same, slipping my Army revolver into my pocket. I emerged to find Holmes dressed in a billowing black cape over an old French suit. A white mask was peeking out from his pocket.

"For my role, Watson. Maia will be playing Christine," he grinned at my questioning expression. I chuckled. Somehow, it did not surprise me. We hurried downstairs and hailed a cab to the Opera House. As soon as we alighted, Holmes directed me to the main entrance whilst he slipped in through a side door. I made my way inside and took my seat. Patil had not arrived yet, so I took this opportunity to read through the program. Surely Holmes and Maia would not only sing The Phantom of the Opera. I was proven correct. There would be two more duets, sung in Hindi and two solos. First would be a solo, Think Of Me, and then a duet, My Hand in Yours, (for the benefit of the reader, Maia has kindly provided me with the English translations), a dance and song routine Silsila Chhahat Ka, the last Hindi duet, Just Look, and finally, The Phantom of the Opera. I wondered how Holmes was going to speak Hindi with a passable accent let alone sing it. My musings distracted me for about ten minutes until none other than Mr. Patil took his place in front of me. I glanced around the Opera House when I caught sight of Inspectors Lestrade and Hopkins in plain clothes taking their seats close to the exits. I silently complimented Holmes' foresight. Should Patil choose to flee and evade me, Hopkins and Lestrade would be waiting for him. The house lights dimmed and I knew then that the show was about to begin. I settled into my seat to watch how it would unfold.


	7. Chapter 7

A/N: Aw, forget it, you know the drill…1. All the characters that Sherlockians recognize are ACD's, however much sadness it causes me to admit it. 2. Maia and Anand are the only 2 characters that are mine. Comprendrez? Très bien! Commençons!

Amazing. That was the only word passing through my head as Holmes, Maia and other dancers entered and exited the stage. So this is where Holmes had been vanishing off to for three weeks. He had been at the Opera House, rehearsing for his performances. I expected Holmes to fumble through the complex Hindi words, but I was proved disappointed. He had no problem getting his tongue around the words, and he had a flawless accent. His singing was at a rich tenor-baritone level and was excellent. The last song was, beyond a doubt, the best I had seen or heard. Maia, her ebony hair styled into an elegant updo with silken ringlets framing her face and dressed in an elaborate gown of white that contrasted with the gold of her skin. Her lips were painted scarlet and her eyes outlined delicately in black. Holmes, dressed in his cape and suit, had made his face slightly paler and had covered the upper part of it in a white mask so that only his eyes were visible. Holmes and Maia...a total contrast in looks, yet opposing sides of the same sovereign coin. They played the part of Erik and Christine to a tee. Maia's sweet, angel-like soprano voice matched Holmes' vibrant tenor-baritone one. They danced around each other, eyes fixated on each other, singing with all their hearts. When they came to Maia's solo section at the end of the song, Maia stepped forward and Holmes paced behind her as Erik, urging his Angel of Music to sing and sing. And with each encouragement, Christine sung, if possible, even higher than her previous note. At the final urging, Erik clutched his Christine to him as she ended on the final, exceptionally high-pitched note. Then, they kissed passionately. Maia's fingers fisted Holmes' cape and his strong arms encircled her waist. I was unable to see our suspect's face, but Holmes, having taken a quick glance from the corner of his eye, told me that Patil was livid, as if someone had stolen his most prized possession. The curtains fell, shielding us from the embracing couple, to tumultuous applause as Lestrade, Hopkins and myself were the first to rise and clap. Patil clapped too, but then rose and disappeared through a door on the side. I silently berated myself for not realising the stage door was present and followed him. There was a narrow passage that I crept through and then a whitewashed hallway of doors, all painted the same moss-green colour. Sound was coming from two doors, but Patil kicked open one of them. As he entered the room, I flattened against the wall, holding my pistol in one hand. I wanted to hear as much of the ongoing conversation as possible.

"_Anand! What on earth...?"_

"_Who is this, Maia?"_ This was Patil speaking, in a quiet, dangerous voice.

"_My co-singer, Anand. But who are you to have to ask? That is, after all, Leonard's position, and-"_

"_No! Mine! It is my position, just as you are mine!" _he screamed wildly.

"_Must we revisit this argument? I am not yours, nor will I ever be!" _Maia cried in irritation.

"_Who is this whom your _beloved_ fiancé will allow you to kiss?" _Patil spat.

"_Leonard Benetton," _Holmes said in his Welsh accent, then returned to his normal one._ "And Mr. Sherlock Holmes,"_

"_Sherlock Holmes! Then this is-"_

"_To prove that you have killed Maia's father. Which I can prove to you quite clearly!"_

"_I assure you, man, I have most certainly-"_

"_Your shoe size. It is a size six, one of the smallest for men, and a footprint found in Ms. Sharma's house belonging to the killer has the same size. The shirt you wear. A good attempt, but your collar has not been washed very well and there are faint yellow stains, a remnant of the blood from Mr. Sharma. You also have a bloodstain on your black leather glove, on the knuckles. You obviously have not bothered to clean it as you thought it would not be seen on the black. Shall I relate what really happened that night? You silently entered the house through the window and shut it carefully. You then slipped into the kitchen and removed the largest knife you could find. You then strode quietly up the stairs and into Mr. Sharma's room. Then, you killed him, carried the body downstairs, washed the knife, hid it in the flowerpot, and hurriedly made your escape, " _Holmes uttered, his tone triumphant. The room was so silent; I could hear the blood pounding in my ears. Then, a slow chuckle.

"_Oh, well done, Mr. Nosy Holmes, very well done. But I shall not allow you to steal the woman that should be my wife, from me! She is mine, do you hear me?!" _the man roared. I entered the room, my gun at the ready. Patil was startled by my appearance and fired – whilst the gun was aimed at Holmes. At almost the last moment, Maia pushed Holmes out of the way with all her strength. She stumbled in the line of fire and the bullet struck her in the chest.

"No!" Holmes and I cried in alarm and horror as Maia gave a shuddering breath. She looked long and hard at Holmes and crumpled to the floor. Patil stared at the body in utter shock. The pistol fell from limp fingers. Holmes strode over to Patil and, grabbing my revolver, used its butt to knock Patil out. I hurried over to Maia's limp body and turned her over. Her face was pale and blood was soaking the beautiful white dress. Holmes brushed tendrils of hair from her beautiful face gently, his face the very picture of horror, despair and hopelessness. It was incredibly strange and distressing to look at. I checked over her wound. After a few minutes, which involved Lestrade and Hopkins coming in and carrying the unconscious Patil out of the dressing room, I sat back with a sigh of relief.

"She will live, Holmes. It did not strike her heart, but just above it, narrowly missing the main artery. She will live," I uttered. Holmes' darkened eyes lightened heavily and his face was filled with hope and happiness.

"Thank you, my friend. Please, do what you can for her," Holmes begged. I nodded silently, and with his help, we carried her body out of the Opera House and into a cab, back to our rooms in Baker Street. I lay her on my bed and ushered a horrified Mrs. Hudson and worried Holmes out of the room and set to work. I had a patient that required my immediate attention. I had not told Holmes one thing. She would live, but it would take her months to fully heal.


	8. Chapter 8

A/N: OK, now this POV is Maia's. Hope you like it!

_My head hurt. It was my first feeling since I collapsed trying to save Sherlock. Sherlock! Was he alright? Was Anand in the gaol cell he had resigned himself to? With an effort, I forced my eyes to flutter open. I was lying in a room I recognised as Doctor Watson's. I attempted to sit up, but a sharp pain shot through my chest and I lay back down with a hiss of pain and a soft moan. A grunt came from the left of the bed and I turned to see what the cause was. To my surprise, it was Sherlock Holmes himself, who was asleep on a chair, his head resting on the edge of my bed in his arms. Looking at him fast asleep, I could not help but think how handsome and tousled he looked...then I noticed the dark circles and haggard face...he appeared to have not shaved for a week and his hair had grown, but he had not bothered to get it cut. As if sensing my gaze, Sherlock's own eyes opened slowly to look into mine. He sat up with a relieved, sleepy smile, which, to me, was exceedingly attractive on his lean, chiselled face. _

"_Good morning, Maia,"_

"_And to you, Sherlock," I responded softly, smiling gently. I remembered the three week period we had shared together whilst rehearsing. Every time our eyes met, I knew, in my heart of hearts, that I loved him dearly. Those feelings of love came rising to the surface like a giant bubble. "Are you alright?" I asked him, concerned. Sherlock shook his head wryly._

"_It is I that should be asking you that, Maia. You were, after all, shot in the chest and then unconscious for a month," I felt my eyes widen._

"_A month?!" I gasped in astonishment. Sherlock nodded wearily, as if that one month was the longest month of his life and, in a way, it was._


	9. Chapter 9

A/N: Holmes' POV…I know, I'm sorry this is so short, but I make up for it in the next chapter, I swear it on my right hand (something I would never ever do unless I really meant something)!

I had spent most of my time in Watson's room, just watching Maia. Pondering how I had come to this state. This state of being hopelessly in love with my own client. It was like going backwards in time and watching the love story of Watson and Mary, only this time with Maia and myself. Why? Did the higher powers seem to believe that this woman was my other half, my counterpart? For it was how felt when I gazed at the then unconscious woman who was my match in many fields. And that passionate kiss that I had shared with her onstage. It had felt...right, somehow. Like it was what I had waited for my whole life. But...could I? I was many years her senior and she had a whole life ahead of her. Was it fair to put her in a marriage with a man with a bipolar attitude such as myself? And what of the cold logic and disembodied judgement I placed above all things? Would it be ethical to place my love for Maia in that position? On the other hand...was it ethical not to? So many questions...so many doubts...


	10. Chapter 10

_A?N: Loadsa fluff here! It's Maia's POV first. After the first star it's Holmes', and after the final star, it's Watson's!_

"_You cannot imagine," Sherlock muttered, running a hand through his messy hair._

"_What can I not imagine?" I asked, curious. What did he mean? Was he referring to how long it had been since I had woken up?_

"_You cannot imagine how I felt when that bullet hit you," he said softly, looking at me with a strange expression._

"_Sherlock, it was not your fault. I did not want to see you hurt. Already one valuable life was lost over me. I did not wish another dear one to be lost," I uttered quietly, putting my hand over his. He looked at it for a second, and then met my gaze again._

"_While I did, indeed, feel that your injury was my fault for about a fortnight until Watson brought me out of that section of depression," his lips twisted into a wry smile at those words. "It was not what I was referring to,"_

"_Then what?" I asked faintly. His April mist grey eyes were most penetrating._

"_I was thinking, in that second, that my life was crashing down on me. When Watson told me that you would live...I knew not what true happiness was until that minute, Maia," he whispered hoarsely. My breath caught in my throat. Was he telling me what I thought he was telling me?_

"_Sherlock...do you mean...?" As if to answer me, he leant over, took my face in his hands, and kissed me softly, sweetly and passionately. If there was a heaven on earth, I was definitely in it._

_As I broke away, her beautiful dark chocolate pools were looking into my own with hope._

"_I mean that...I do not know when, or how...but I am deeply in love with you, Maia," I finally uttered the words. She gasped in utter joy._

"_Oh my...Sherlock, I love you too," the five words that filled my own heart with happiness. I smiled at her and kissed her again._

I entered the room to check on my patient and on her permanent visitor. I had expected either Holmes to be gazing dully into space or at Maia's unconscious form, or even for him to be asleep. The way the man was going, he would soon be in a bed next to Maia, in the same state. I stopped dead in the doorway. Sherlock Holmes and Maia Sharma were embracing tenderly, Holmes next to Maia in her bed. Holmes' head rested on Maia's. Their expressions were one of utter bliss. Holmes sensed my presence and looked up at me. I smiled reassuringly at him and nodded my blessing. I then bowed my way out of the room and shut the door behind me, smiling contentedly.


	11. Chapter 11

A/N: Only Watson in this final chappie…yes, it's over! (makes a sad face) Not to worry though, The Unchronicled Case No.2 will be uploaded shortly…I'm hoping to put in much more humour into the next one! Hope you've enjoyed!

Now, to conclude. Holmes proposed to Maia as soon as she was well enough to walk around the rooms without gasping for pain. She accepted with tears of joy in her dark eyes. The wedding took place in a quiet church, with Mycroft Holmes' friend, Rev. John Carson presiding. Only a few were present, the Reverend, Mycroft, I, Mrs. Hudson, and Maia's only friend in town, Mrs. Geraldine Olsen. All of us were sworn to secrecy before the wedding by Holmes, who explained that should his enemies get wind of his marriage to Maia, they would be after her as a pack of wolves goes after a freshly killed carcass. Holmes and Maia could not take their eyes off each other at the wedding. Holmes cut an attractive figure in a black and white suit, but it was his bride who stole the limelight. Dressed in a delicate _sari_ of white and gold, a red _bindi_, gold bangles on her wrists (that Holmes had given her to 'propose' – as is the custom in India), a gold and black chain with a small heart-shaped pendant (also from Holmes – to signify that Maia was a married woman), and her engagement ring that Holmes had given her when they were pretending to be engaged, Maia was radiant and exceedingly beautiful. Another ring, a plain gold band with an engraving on the inner surface joined it after the vows were exchanged. A matching ring adorned Holmes' finger, and he gently spread red powder in the middle parting of Maia's dark hair, which was loose, but away from her face using a thin braid on each side of her face and tying them behind her head. The thin red line was also to signify that she was married. They embraced happily after it was over, before Holmes took her hand and led her to the back of the church. When they emerged, Maia was wearing a curly red wig. Her golden skin was now pasty and freckly and she was wearing a gown of green. Holmes was wearing a wig of golden brown and was carrying himself with a more arrogant air. Both of them had bags, which indicated that they planned to start their honeymoon immediately.

"I thank you, my friend," Holmes smiled thankfully at his best man (namely, me).

"Not at all, old friend. May all the happiness in the world be with you," I grinned, and kissed Maia's cheek in a fatherly manner. She smiled joyfully at me.

"It already is, Doctor," she returned the kiss on the cheek, and let Mycroft kiss her hand. She then gave Mrs. Hudson and Mrs. Olsen a hug each and allowed Holmes to lead her to a hansom. Holmes leant out the window before they departed.

"If anyone asks, Watson, I am out of town on a case. I daresay we shall find one wherever we go," Holmes chuckled dryly. Then they were off. And so ends the tale of A Case of Emotion– the beginning case of a series that Sherlock Holmes forbade me to reveal to the public...until on his deathbed, when he smiled in memory of his beloved Maia and whispered words that will stay with me as long as I live-:

"_She is simply my Maia – the only woman who shall always remain in my heart. After all...true love lasts forever."_

A/N: Awwww…ain't it sweet? Well, that's all, folks! Until next time that is…(evil smile) mwahahahahahaha!


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